A quiet afternoon
by slowroad
Summary: Sherlock and John are having a quiet day at home between cases. Sherlock is thoughtful. John is curious. Sherlock plays the violin and makes some confessions. Romance and fluff.


**Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong to Arthur Conan Doyle and in this version to Steve Moffat and Mark Gatiss.**

**...**

It was four 'o' clock on a Saturday afternoon. John was sitting in his armchair writing up the latest case on his blog. Sherlock was draped over the sofa, eyes closed, clearly lost in thought. John glanced at him curiously a couple of times, wondering what his friend was thinking about so seriously…they didn't have a case. It had been four days since their last case.

Sherlock should have been bored sick by now. But he'd been unusually quiet these last few days…lost in his own head. John knew that it was best to leave the man alone at times like these. But it had been four days of near silence and he was starting to get worried.

Sherlock opened his eyes after a bit. He turned his head and looked at John. John returned the look with a small smile and went back to his work. It was a few minutes before he realised that Sherlock was still looking at him…he was staring intently, in fact, like he was trying to figure something out.

"Something on your mind?" asked John without looking up.

"Hmmm….no, nothing." said Sherlock.

And then he got up, picked up his violin and went to the window. He just stood there for a bit and then he started playing. John closed his laptop, set it aside and sat back to listen. It was rare for Sherlock to play real music…a lot of the time he would sit with the violin in his lap, plucking at the strings or drawing the bow over it angrily.

Of late, he'd been playing more…particularly at night. John looked at him now as he stood at the window, eyes closed, moving in time with the music as he played. He was beautiful to look at…more so now, as he stood there lost in his music, a small smile on his face. That smile tugged at John's heart in a way that was painful almost.

It was rare for him to see Sherlock like this… relaxed and just doing something he enjoyed. He looks so much younger like this John thought. He wanted nothing more than to walk up to Sherlock and kiss that little smile on his face…but of course he couldn't. So he just sighed and put that thought away.

Sherlock had been playing a Beethoven sonata. John didn't know which, but it was one that he had heard him play a few times before. Sherlock finished the piece and started another. This was very familiar, though John couldn't put a name to it…

It was beautiful…there was a lot of emotion in it…desire, longing, love? It was wonderful to listen to and somehow painful as well. Inept as his friend was with emotions and feelings, his violin seemed to able to draw them out of him.

He felt jealous of the violin, almost…but then he'd known what he was getting himself into. Sherlock had told him that he was married to his work…John hadn't really been asking then. He'd just been curious. But he had felt a connection, almost from the moment they'd met. Sherlock had felt it too. They called it friendship. But it was much deeper than that.

As he listened, John realised a few things. This was one of Sherlock's own compositions. He'd been working on it for several nights now. That's why it had seemed familiar. So far he'd only heard bits and pieces of it, in between waking up and dropping off to sleep again.

He knew Sherlock was a genius, brilliant at everything he did. So he shouldn't be surprised or amazed any more. But he was…awed that Sherlock could write music that was so heart meltingly beautiful and play it with so much emotion…some sociopath.

Sherlock finished the piece and turned around to look at John…they held each other's eyes for a couple of minutes. John knew that we wouldn't be able to hide any of his thoughts or feelings from his friend.

But for once, he didn't care. He'd been in love with Sherlock for months now. He'd tried very hard to hide it. But somehow it didn't matter anymore. If Sherlock found out…there would be some awkwardness, but they'd get past it and continue to be friends.

All his fears of the last few months seemed ridiculous now. Of course, they would always be a part of each other's lives. They belonged together…if only as friends. So he looked back at his friend, not bothering to conceal his fondness and his love.

"Did you like it?" asked Sherlock sounding a bit nervous.

"Of course I did. It was beautiful. It's one of yours isn't it?"

"Yes…I'm glad you liked it.." he said. He sounded uncertain, nervous, shy even.

"Why are you asking though? Since when does my opinion of music matter" John sounded confused and a touch amused.

"Because I wrote this for you…"

"You wrote _that _for me?"

Sherlock nodded as he turned to put away his violin.

"I wrote you a serenade, John." He said quietly.

It took John a couple of seconds to understand what Sherlock was trying to say. When he did, he smiled…he stood up and went to his friend who was still standing by the window. He reached up and held his face and pulled him down for a kiss. It was soft, sweet, chaste and said everything that he couldn't say with words.

He stepped back and caught his breath when he saw the look on Sherlock's face…a mixture of surprise, love and joy mingled with a confusion and shyness. He looked so adorable.

"I love you too." said John before reaching up to kiss him again.

…

It was about an hour later. He was sitting on the couch while Sherlock was lying with his head in John's lap. John had his hand in Sherlock's curls…gently stroking and playing with them.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this." John said.

"How long, John?'

"Ever since I shot the cabbie, I guess."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"How could I? You told me you were married to your work. You made your disinterest obvious."

"I was an idiot!"

"Did you just say what I think you said?'

"You heard…I thought you would be like all the others. I was sure I would get bored of you and that you would get tired of putting up with my experiments, my rudeness, my absorption in my work…I was sure you would get tired of putting up with me and leave…everyone leaves." He finished in a small voice.

He sounds so much like a lost child, John thought. To think that this wonderful man had spent all these years without ever having a friend…someone who truly cared about him and loved him for who he was…it made John's stomach clench painfully. He pulled Sherlock into his lap and held him close.

"I'm never going to leave Sherlock…never ever. I love you, you mad man." He said and he kissed him again. John still couldn't believe that he was allowed to do this. He'd wanted it for so long.

Sherlock leaned into the kiss, licking and nipping at John's lips until he opened his mouth and then he dived right in with all the passion that he was capable of, trying to show John how much he meant to him. Sherlock knew that he wouldn't be able to say any of this with words, so actions would have to do. He knew John would understand. He always understood.


End file.
